


Hey Jude

by DevilsDontFlyButJustYouWatchMeTry (KissMyAssButt67)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Male Pregnancy, Pregnant!Dean, Rape Aftermath, Rape Recovery, Rape/Non-con Elements, fallen!cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-16
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-04-21 00:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4808075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KissMyAssButt67/pseuds/DevilsDontFlyButJustYouWatchMeTry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Due to Castiel's fall and Dean's refusal to agree to Michael proposal Michael takes Dean and rapes him. When Castiel finds him Dean is weak, but as ever in denial. Dean had planned to ignore it, just another weight for him to carry alone, but when he shows signs of a more permanent Dean knows he cannot ignore forever. While Heaven hunts both he and the nephalim he carried, Castiel fights both for Dean and humanity, and Sam shows the true power of the anti-Christ. They all must work hard to save not only the righteous man and the world but also perhaps the only good Dean and Sam Winchester have ever known.<br/>'Her name is Jude, Jude Winchester, and she's beautiful.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Fall of the Righteous

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I hope you're enjoying it so far, I know it's only at the beginning. Castiel ends up helping Dean in the only way he knows how, but I'm not sure about this chapter to be honest. So please tell me what you guys are thinking, and I hope you are enjoying half term! (If your at school...)

In hindsight Dean supposed he probably should have listened to Sam when his younger brother told him not to go wondering off by himself, after all they were the prophesised vessels. Dean supposed that yeah, maybe Sam was right, but how the hell was Dean supposed to think this one up. He could deal with angel blades and hell hounds, he could deal with bitchy gross witches and demon girls in mirrors making his brother’s eye bleed, hell he’d punch the devil in the face if he had to, but he had never even thought the bastards possible of this. He’d never thought Michael capable of this. He supposed that’s what he got for believing, even a little bit.

He could remember high school; he could remember when the girls were told not to walk alone at night near the crappy bars and down dark alleys. The boys had never been told that, he’d never been told not to go down dark alleys. He was sure it wasn’t their fault, but right now he needed someone, anyone, to blame while he wrapped his head around this horse shit and they were an easy target right now. He sat up, an ache in his backside, and considered screaming to the heavens. He considered threating to burn Michael’s wings to crisp; he considered tracking that asshole Zachariah and shoving a thousand blades all over his body. He considered using every trick Alistair ever taught him to torture Michael, to show him real pain, but that meant seeing him again and he wasn’t too keen on that.

He had walked down the dark alley next to the pub, a short cut to the mote him and Sam were staying in. He was Dean Winchester, king of the hunt, ruler of the roads, nightmare of all monsters Eve had ever birthed. He had never feared the dark before, not since his dad had shoved a shot gun in his hand and told him that he needed to protect Sammy; Sammy was all that ever mattered. His dad had never prepared him for this though. How do you prepare anyone for it?

He didn’t care when a dark figure walked behind him, perhaps that was where he went wrong. He assumed them human, and if they weren’t then they wouldn’t be anything but a corpse soon. Perhaps he had gotten cocky; perhaps he just didn’t care anymore. He turned the corner, out of the dark alley, and onto the road that led to the motel. He should’ve called Sammy. He should’ve told him that he had something on his shoe, he should’ve said that he was on his way home, he should’ve told him to come looking for him if he didn’t. He should’ve turned around, looking at the figure following him; he should’ve seen those unreal blue eyes and ran. He should’ve called Cas, he should’ve fucking done something, anything but keep walking. Anything but ignore the bastard in black and white. He should’ve felt some kind of stupid fucking bond, but he didn’t. He didn’t feel a thing, he just kept walking. He kept walking, because the Earth turned and Sam sat up reading and Castiel was off doing whatever Castiel doing, Bobby answered calls and did his research, everyone went on with their business and when a hand covered his mouth, when he froze (and why did he freeze, oh god why did he freeze, why didn’t he fight like he’d been taught since he was a kid), people passed them and didn’t say a word, not a single one. Maybe they couldn’t see, maybe they thought it was some couple’s game, but they just walked past. No one cared and when two soft fingers touched his forehead and he felt himself go under, he had thought this was nothing more than one of Zachariah’s lackeys being a prick, being a feathered asshole, and oh holy Jesus why hadn’t it been one of Zachariah’s lackey’s giving him stomach cancer.

He woke up in a large bed covered in red satin sheets, his wrists hand cuffed to the top of the bed.

“You know, if you want to torture me you don’t have to go this _far_ to make me comfortable. A rack usually suffices,”

A deep gruff voice that Dean was far too familiar with let out a chuckle, and it almost calmed Dean down. It _almost_ calmed him down.

“Dean, Dean, Dean, my sweet little righteous man. I don’t intent to torture you, no I hope you enjoy what is about to occur. Your comfort is most definitely needed; I assure you my little ape.”

Dean tugged on the bonds, panic rising in his body. He didn’t like that tone of voice, and it really didn’t help that he sounded a lot like his dad, like a fucking lot.

“Hush now Dean, you don’t need to struggle. Nothing bad is going to happen here, it’s just you and me, my dear little vessel.”

Dean yanked on the hand cuff.

“Aha, right, so why are my wrists chained to the bed Romeo?” Dean demanded, still pulling on them as hard as he could.

“I am aware of your adversity to this, my beloved one, but I assure you it is needed. It is for the good of mankind,”

“Right, you remember that when I fry your ugly ass wings off,” Dean snapped at him.

Michael approached him, the fact that he wearing his father’s face really wasn’t helping matters. Dean kicked the satin covers at him, which was a pathetic defence but right now it was the best he had.

“Dean, you need to calm down.”

“I will calm down when you get back to the other side of the room, nice and safe over there,” he gestured his head to the farthest corner of the room with his head.

Michael chuckled.

“My sweet little righteous man, I think we both know that I’m not going to do that.”

Michael crawled across the bed, Dean’s father’s young soft hand stroking his face, and the righteous man closed his eyes tightly. He closed his eyes and prayed to the only angel in the entire universe that he trusted.

_Cas, Castiel, please, please fucking find me, Cas, Cas, please. Please come fucking save me. Cas, Cas, Cas please. I need you. I need you Castiel._

Michael bent his head and dropped a soft kiss to his forehead, so soft and so caring and Dean almost puked on the fucking blood red bed. that’s what it was. It wasn’t a romantic red, the kind that the loving couple laid on for their first time; it was red with the blood that Dean had spilt in Hell. This was his punishment.

Michael gripped his chin softly, oh so softly, and looking into those green eyes, so bright with life and fire.

“You don’t need to pray to that fallen angel, my human, I’m right here.”

Dean clenched his jaw, gripped his fingers around the chains attached to his hand cuffs, and thought about Sammy, he thought about his mother’s warm smile and Castiel’s confused tilted head. He thought about Bobby’s scoff, he thought about his baby, anything but his father, anything but Michael, anything but _here._ He wanted to be anywhere but _here_.

Michael kissed him, soft and gentle, and Dean resisted the urge to gag. Those big hands were stroking up and down his arms.

“I will do my best to make this enjoyable for you, Dean. this does not have to be a bad thing,”

Dean leaned back and closed his eyes. He thought about Alistair. Alistair had always said things like that. He had exactly lied, Dean learnt to enjoy it. He thought about Castiel, about bright blue eyes and soft hands, and a smile that said he’d protect him till his own death.

“I believe you,” Dean managed to force out, but he wasn’t talking to Michael.

Lips attached to his neck, sucking on his pressure point, and Dean really didn’t mean to let out that pleasured groan. Did that mean he enjoyed it? Did that mean that he wanted it? Surely it did. He didn’t want this. He couldn’t want this. it was his father for fucks sake!

Michael continued his trail down Dean’s neck, he twisted his arm around his back, his fingers shifted behind and Dean heard squelching sounds. When Michael pulled his arm back, a clear liquid dripped down his fingers. Dean looked away, letting out timed breaths. He was fine. He was fine. He was going to be fine. He was Dean bloody Winchester, he loved sex. He loved sex.

Michael’s, John’s, he didn’t even fucking know anymore, stroked along the line of his ring and Dean decided that no, he definitely did not enjoy sex. Sex was fucking shit. Sex was shit and when one finger penetrated him Dean was sure he was ready to swear abstinence to…the devil. Not God, he didn’t fucking owe God shit. He didn’t fucking owe Lucifer shit. He heard Sam sprouting some shit about Athena being abstinent; maybe he’d swear to her. Athena sounded cool. Yeah, Athena sounded cool.

Dean didn’t even notice Michael adding another or the third, but he sure as hell noticed when Michael moved all three and he let out a moan. He did not like this. he fucking didn’t. he didn’t like any of this. he closed his eyes tighter if possible and racked his brain for anything, anything, that didn’t include dickish angels and dicks in general. He thought about Sammy, god Sammy was beautiful. Not that kind of beautiful when you saw a hot chick at a bar, or even the kind of beautiful like a thousand fireworks lighting up the July sky. No, he was the real Heaven kind of beautiful. Like if Lucifer had a child with the most beautiful woman on Earth, so his mom basically, that was Sam. Sam was cute as a kid, when he was saying they had to save all the tigers and when he _was on the football team, and when Dean took a beating so they could stay for the big game, because those bags_ of dicks didn’t have a chance without his Sammy.  Sammy with his long brown hair that Dean would cut one day, he swore he would, and with those long legs that he always hunched up to make himself as small as possible. Sam was beautiful. Sam was perfect. Dean could almost be there, under that July sky, under those fireworks, and in Sam’s hug. He was almost there, and not here. He wasn’t here. He wasn’t here, in this stupid comfy bed, beneath that angelic asshole. He was with Sammy. He was always with Sammy.

He felt a thrust, the invasion in his body, and he clung to Sam. He clung to his brother; he clung to his baby brother.

“Dean, Dean!” his brother called, he gripped those little hands. He was so tiny, so tiny and beautiful. He was so tiny, a tiny beautiful pure little brother who looked at him like he was the world.

“I’m right here Sammy, I’m right here,”

He was a bad person, using Sammy like that, but he couldn’t be here so he was there. He was there with Sam, and the July air, and the fireworks, and the grass beneath his boots, and smiling brothers and warm hugs, with loud explosions and happy laughter. He was there. He was there. He was there.

He was far away from warm kisses and hard thrusts, away from sucking lips and stroking hands, he was away from loving smiles and whispered words of how he wanted this, how he loved this, how he loved _him._

Those hands travelled up his chest, stroking hard abs, and stroked down his arms.

“Dean, Dean,” he was panting, his thrusts turned harsh, his dick going further into Dean’s body.

The eldest Winchester was dragged back from his world, his Sammy, thrown back into the blood red bed and into the arms of a wicked angel who could never understand what he had done.

The first spurt of liquid made Dean relax, the release of the angel meant the release of him. As Michael pulled himself out, slowly moving away Dean felt the chains melt away and he collapsed into the bed. Clear fluids dripped from his ass but he didn’t care, didn’t want to move. He just wanted it all to stop, everything to stop. He needed the world to just _stop._

Michael dropped a kiss to Dean’s forehead and he didn’t even have the energy to shove him away, to push him, hit him; scream at him.

The school should have told him. The school should have told not to walk down dark alleys. His father should have warned him, he should’ve warned Dean that there were worst things than vampires and werewolves wanting to bleed him dry and eat his heart. His father should have warned him that there were things with big wings wearing a fatherly face, things that came from heaven, things that chained you up in big king sized beds with soft silk sheets that take you whether you want it or not. there were so many things worse than death. Somebody should have warned him.

Someone should have warned him…


	2. Thursday Has Fallen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel's finds Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, I know I haven't updates this for ages!   
> I hope you like this chapter, and thank you so much for all your comments, they were really encouraging!   
> Please enjoy, and only constructive criticism please!!xxx  
> P.S  
> If anyone is up for the task, I'd love for a beta!

The word of the Lord had always come at a price, even if it was a price that humanity did not always understand. Even back then, when humanity was nothing but an ape in the trees, the Father had put forth a law that no angel dared cross: consent is key to all things human. It was a law that not all angels understood, all angels obeyed.

Despite this knowledge, Castiel was helpless but to watch as the righteous man, he who was purer than most and whose soul seemed to outshine the brightest star, struggled to find sleep against his living nightmare. Dean, the eldest son of the Abel and Cain line, awoke with a start and a yell. Castiel watched from the Heavens, Uriel by his side, as his charge struggled with the reality that was soon to become his life.   
“Michael has spoken brother, there is nothing to be done,” Uriel told him in his deep voice.

“Anna would have done something; Anna wouldn’t be sitting here staring at him.”

“Because of that Anna is on the run, without her grace and her family. Would you wish the same on yourself?”

Castiel stared down at his charge, the fearless soldier who lived like a warrior, and fought better than many Castiel had met.

“He is courageous, pure of heart, and yet he is punished. Why?” Castiel asked, his large black wings beginning to flap with impatience.

“That very question is which plummeted Lucifer to the pit,” Uriel reminded him.

“Lucifer did it out of pride and envy,” Castiel shot back.

Uriel stretched his large wings.

“Zachariah calls me, you should stop watching him. It will lead you to nothing but pain brother.”

* * *

 

 Castiel appeared in Dean’s room.

He starred over his resting face; his green eyes now fluttered shut, his lips breathing out almost methodical. It was as though his body was going through the motions. In, out, in, out; the survival of humanity had never ceased to amaze him. He stroked over Dean’s sweaty face and soon found himself dragged into the world that Dean created to hide the reality of his life.

* * *

 

They were in a field, they were running. Dean always seemed to be running. Though, for once, Dean was not running from a threat but from a small boy with dimples and messy brown hair.

“I’ma get you Dean!” the small child yelled, joy and love in his voice.

“Not with those midget legs, you’re going to be a short ass forever!” Dean laughed back.

He slid under the large dug up root of a large tree, looking around Castiel realised they were in a forest; sun light beaming through the tall branches while there didn’t seem to be a cloud in the sky. Castiel looked at Sam, and realised that suddenly he was taller, almost as tall as Dean now. He looked close to tears, but Dean was hugging him, sitting on the roof of the impala. Colours blurred, soft grass turned to hard tarmac, light skies had turned to shining stars.

“Dean, you can’t let him keep doing to you,” Sam whispered, his hands gripping his brother’s tight shirt.

“Ah, I’m fine bitch, stop your worrying. Did you finish your homework?”

“You have a black eye and you’re worried about math,”

“I’m not going to college Sasquatch; alright now tell me, how do I work out momentum?”

“Dean, you could go to college,”

“You’re trying to get out of it, come on,”

“Mass X velocity, you know that Dean,” Sam sighed.

“Alright, now…”

On and on he went, pressing Sam for answers on a chemistry test that Dean would never take. He asked him questioned for coursework he would never do, asked him about a future Dean would never see, and the more Sam talked the more Dean smiled and eased up. It was as if Dean’s personal cure was Sam’s own voice, the more Sam spoke, the easier it had become for Dean to laugh. The more Sam was, the easier Dean breathed and Castiel watched the piece of the puzzle his eldest brother’s had missed. Dean Winchester was a beautiful thing, but the anti-Christ was a step more.

* * *

 

He felt himself being thrown out of Dean head as Dean woke up.

“Stay the fuck out of my head,” Dean growled, his eyes the wild shade of a wounded animal.

 “Of course, Dean.” Castiel bowed his head and Dean nodded.

“Well, whaddya want? Huh, didn’t seem to want to know me last night.” Dean grunted.

“It has taken me two nights to find you,” Castiel confessed, guilty for not being able to find him sooner.

“Two nights…shit. Where’s Sammy?”

“Sam is with Robert, at his junkyard. We have guarded the house against my brethren.”

“Good,” Dean nodded.

“Dean…” Castiel began but he shook his head.

* * *

 

 He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready to look down his pants or at his skin. He wasn’t ready to look into beautiful blue eyes and see a beast that resembled that of the monster that controlled the skies. He wasn’t ready to face what had happened, and he wasn’t ready to accept the truth of the matter. He was ready for Sam to throw him a beer, and for Bobby to snap at him for messing with his books. He was ready for food, and for Cas being oblivious. He wasn’t ready to face Michael. Not know, not ever again.

* * *

 

 “Just get me out of here man, I need to see Sam.”

Castiel nodded. Sam Winchester, it seemed, was the cure for all things when it came to Dean Winchester.

“As you wish,” Castiel bowed his head, before pressing two fingers to Dean’s temple. The human man fell down easily; the celestial being lifted the righteous man from his bed. His very being shook as he left the room.

* * *

 

The red hand print of Dean Winchester’s shoulder shined, radiated heat as Dean rested his head on Castiel’s shoulder. The angel’s grace flared up at the feeling of the burn. It was something stronger than heaven, something stronger than Hell. It was stronger than the sin that Michael committed, it was true. It was acceptance. It was Dean saying he trusted Castiel enough to get him back to Sam, and that was worth more than the punishment Michael would rain down on Thursday’s angel.


	3. Where Is Home For A Broken Heart?

Dean woke up next to Sam, and that was the only place he ever wanted to wake up for the next forever. Sam was frowning in his sleep, and his arms were wrapped around Dean tightly. Dean looked around the room, noting that it was dark and Cas wasn’t anywhere to be found. That was fine. He wasn’t that useful anyway, and it’s not like they were friends or anything. He had probably just ran back to Him. That was fine. They were family. For all Dean knew, Castiel was in on it. He was probably in on it. Angels were all fucking weirdos.

Sam turned over, his arms tightening around Dean’s middle. Dean realised that Sam was spooning him. That asshole was fucking spooning him. He could laugh.

He laid his head on the pillow, and was about to close his eyes when he was sure he saw that shadow move. He tried to move but his hands and ankles were chained to the bed, he thrashed.

“SAM!” he screamed, yanking on the metal cuffs.

The shadows began to shift and move on their own accord. He felt strong hand shaking him.

“Dean, Dean!” the voices were yelling.

Michael appeared on top of him, grinning and laughing.

“Not so big and bad now are you?” he whispered into his ear before nibbling onto it.

“Get off! Get off!” he yelled.

“Ssh, ssh,” Michael hushed him. “We wouldn’t want Sammy to hear us now would we?”

Dean’s head turned and Sam was still there, snoring away as he usually did. He closed his ears and blew out through his nose. Michael couldn’t touch Sam. Michael couldn’t touch Sam.

“Don’t touch him,” he managed to get out.

He had meant for it to sound threatening, angry, but it sounded more like a sob than anything else.

Michael’s hand wandered down his trousers and he nearly passed out.

 

* * *

 

Dean shot up, Sam kneeling in front of him.

Sam’s hands were wrapped around his shoulders and Dean blinked dumbly.

“Where…where’s Michael?” he asked.

“Michael? Why would Michael be here Dean?” Sam asked, he raised an eyebrow and Dean shook his head.

“Must’ve been a dream…just a dream…” he muttered to himself.

“Dean, are you okay man? You were screaming the hotel down, I thought the manager was gonna come knocking the door in,”

“Yeah, I’m good.”

“Alright, get some sleep; Bobby’s got a job for us.”

Sam walked over to his own bed and Dean stared at it like it physically offended him.

He checked under his pillow and stared where it should be. He never moved it. He would never go to sleep without his knife. He never slept without it. It was like being naked.

He looked over to Sam, almost called over to ask if he’d seen it, but the guy was already sleeping. He shook his head. He didn’t need a stupid knife. It was fine. He was fine. He was just being a pussy.

He laid back down, closed his eyes and was dragged back into Michael’s world.

Strong hands holding his wrists down, strong thrusts aimed at his ass.

“Sssh, ssh,” Michael was whispering and Dean closed his eyes, collapsing under the archangels strength. He just wanted to go to sleep. He just wanted him to go away.

“Good boy,” Michael purred and Dean couldn’t even give him a proper answer. He just made an uncommitted sound and let Michael do as he would. What did it matter, he wanted it anyway right?

 

* * *

 

He woke up before Sam in the morning, but he didn’t go and get breakfast. He just sat on his bed, staring at the wall, just remembering Michael. He should’ve been stronger. He was a god damned hunter, he’d survived Hell, he’d survived _Alistair_ , he should’ve turned around and attacked him. He shouldn’t have let Michael get the best of him.

“Oi, jerk!” Sam called.

Dean turned his head, green eyes bleary and unfocused. Dean was pretty sure the only time there had been three Sam’s was in a really fucked up dream.

“You alright man?” he asked.

Dean nodded.

“Yeah, just need to get on the road,” he said, but his voice sounded faded, like he was a hundred miles away.

“Yeah, okay, I’ll get the gear. Why don’t you go get in the car?”

Dean’s breath hitched, but he nodded anyway. He shouldn’t have nodded. He should’ve of fucking agreed to this. He was going to get in the car and they were going to get him. They were all fucking cunts. They were going to fuck with Baby; they were going to burn her up.

“Dean?” Sam called.

Dean turned his head, eyes staring right through his brother.

“How about you help me set up, I don’t want to find some of your condoms are whatever,”

Dean got off of his bed and began picking up his clothes, and grabbing his guns and holy water from under his bed.

Sam watched him, carefully analysing every movement. There was weird, there was bat shit crazy, there was Dean’s kinda weird, and then there was this. This wasn’t his usual ‘I got stabbed and I’m not telling you that because I’m your big brother, that means I have to be superman’. This was something more. This was something worse.

Castiel had seemed pretty hasty when dropping him off the other night.

“Dean, you ready?” Sam asked.

Dean heaved his bag, turned his head, and nodded slightly at his brother.

He needed to say something. Sam was going to think something was wrong soon.

“Yeah,” Dean managed to croak out, but his voice broke half way through. Great, now Sam was really going to think something was wrong.

“Okay, I’ll put it in the boot, come on,”

Dean followed him numbly, trying to ignore flashing images of a tall man with beautiful eyes and a warm smile.

 _You want this_ a soft voice whispered.

“I wanted it,” Dean whispered, Sam kept walking and didn’t hear a word.


	4. Three Things Cannot Be Long Hidden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The truth comes out and Castiel returns

The drive was longer than expected. Dean managed to sleep the majority of the trip, which was good.

Sam knew that he wasn’t sleeping, whether Dean wanted to talk about it or not. He knew Dean was over thinking, trying to make Sam think he was okay while convincing himself that he was fine and trying to put a brave face on for whatever or whoever had made him not okay. Sam knew Dean was worried about him too, worried about him worrying. Sam had always been a worrier. He used to worry about his grades, his friends, his hunts, Dean’s hunts. He used to worry about the weird markings that would pop up over his skin after a night where Sam had been a little shit to Dad, he worried about the marks that Dean passed off as a moody monster but looked far too human to be creature. Dean still defended Dad to death, but Sam was sure Dad had gone a bit over board, especially when it was Sam who fucked up so much, not Dean. He knew he didn’t see half the stuff that actually happened, Dean was good at lying and putting masks up, and that worried him even more. Dean was becoming a bit of a mask more than a person.

Dean woke up after four hours of driving, which was quite good for a hunter. He didn’t usually get so much sleep in him. He opened his eyes and straight away he was up, there was no waking up period for Dean, he was just up. It was becoming more frequent recently, like Dean was waiting for something or someone to jump out of him. Sam wasn’t sleeping much either, but between being tired and having Lucifer in your dreams, well he’d choose being tired. Dean wasn’t noticing, so he’d keep up until Dean’s inner mother hen awoke again. Thinking about it, it was a shame Dean didn’t go to college with him. He wouldn’t have had any of that cramming bullshit; he would have threatened to burn his books!

“How long was I asleep?” Dean asked, a certain distance tone to his voice. It was as if Dean wasn’t sure if he was even up.

“Not long,” Sam admitted. “Four hours?” he made a guess.

No, it had been four hours. It had been four hours on the dot, but if he said that then Dean would know he’d been counting and worrying, and then _he’d_ worry.

Dean nodded at him.Sam wondered if this was how Dad felt when Dean was mute after Mom died. Dean just didn’t seem to be there. His elder brother turned his head, staring out the window at the trees as they flew by. Sam turned the radio on and Bon Jovi played through the old muscle car.

“Really, Bon Jovi?” Dean shook his head.

“You used to _love_ Bon Jovi!” Sam argued.

Dean shook his head, but his fingers began to tap on the car. Sam hummed the tune; he knew Dean wouldn’t be able to hold back after a while.

“ _Shot through the heart and you’re too blame,_ _you give love a bad name!”_ he yelled, he was completely out of tune but he was loud. He was loud and alive.

“ _I’ll play my part and you play your games!”_ Sam yelled back and Dean managed a light chuckle.

Sam didn’t know what the hell was wrong with his brother, but he knew how to keep him by his side for as long as he could, and that was what mattered. Dean reached over, and in a silent moment of what he knew Dean would think of as weakness, he held his hand over his brother’s. just a couple of seconds of intimacy for two brothers who didn’t speak through words, but through touches and glances.  _I know,_ Sam’s eyes whispered to Dean’s touch and they drove in silence, Bon Jovi’s voice filling the air. 

 

They drove up to Bobby’s house and silently, they both got out. They worked in unison, getting the stuff and walking too close but never close enough for them. They walked closer and saw that the door was blown off the hinges, Dean’s eyes widened and he turend to Sam.

_Don’t make me go first. Don’t make me go first. Don’t make me go first._

A mantra filled his head, and he hated himself. He was the big brother. He should be going first. He shouldn’t even be letting Sam go first. Sam took long strides forward, pulling a pistol to his chest. He walked forward.

“Bobby?” he called.

Castiel sat on a chair, Bobby asleep on the sofa.

“Hello Sam,” he greeted. His eyes seemed dark, blood splattered all over his suit.

“Castiel,” Sam greeted, the word clipped and tense.

One word carried a whole range of messages.

_Where the fuck have you been? What the fuck have you done? Did you fucking touch Bobby? What’s wrong with Dean? Why are you covered in blood? Can I hit you?_

“Robert is fine; he simply panicked when he saw me covered in blood so I had to put him to sleep. Where is Dean?” he demanded, looking towards the hallway.

“Outside, we didn’t know what was in here.”

“You don’t find that…odd? Dean, leaving you alone?” he asked, looking at him and Sam decided that he had never wanted to punch anyone as much as Castiel.

“Dean was attacked, it’s normal.” He gritted his teeth.

“Is it, for Dean? The Dean I know would rather find and kill it, then run from it.” Castiel reminded him.

Sam walked towards him, his eyes glinting yellow.

“You _don’t_ know Dean,” he growled.

“I made him from scratch, you were fucking a demon whore.”  Castiel reminded him.

The angel stood, stripping himself of his trench coat and suit jacket. He clicked his fingers and the blood cleaned from his clothes and skin.

 

He walked through the hallway and smiled as Dean came into a view. For a minute it looked as though Dean was going to run, get in the car and get as far away from the angel as he could. Instead, he ran forward, grabbing onto the angel and hard as he could.

“You left,” he accused.

His voice was hard and angry, all things that made Dean Winchester the great force that he was.

“My apologies, there were angels who were attempting to find you and Sam.”

Dean turned his head round the corner and saw the blood covering his coat and jacket.

“You killed them,” Dean realised aloud.

Sam coughed and Dean looked up. He looked down, embarrassed at how he desperately gripped Castiel.

“Is bobby okay?” he asked.

“Apparently,” Sam grunted.

Castiel gently pulled Dean from him.

“Dean, soon we will need to have a discussion about what happened.” Castiel warned him.

“I’d like to join this chat,” Sam added.

“Of course Samuel,”

Dean rested his head on Castiel’s chest and felt real for the first time in days. He felt like this was the real world, there was no way Michael would give Dean Castiel, something so real and strong, and the angel wrapped his arms around the weak hunter.

“You must rest, we have much to discuss,” Castiel told him, and without further prompt Dean let Castiel carry him to bed.

Sam grabbed Castiel’s arm, Dean opening one eye, not really paying attention.

“ _We_ have much to discuss,” and Dean was sure that was a threat.

 

Sam and Castiel had been arguing for hours, mainly Sam yelling that Dean had been out of his mind and Castiel trying to get Sam to understand that Dean needed to recover on his own, in his own time.

“You still haven’t told me what he needs to recover from!” Sam snapped.

“And I refuse to, it is Dean’s decision,” Castiel sighed.

Bobby was still passed out and it was starting to get to Sam.

His brother was broken, his own moral compass was in pieces, Bobby was passed out and all he had for help was a demon he couldn’t trust and an angel who was being a pain in the ass.

“Sam!” Dean screamed from the bedroom, his voice frantic.

Sam ran past Castiel, marching up the stairs.

“Sam, Sam, no please, SAM!” he wailed, like he was being tortured in the bedroom.

Sam pulled the door open, nearly ripping the knob out of it place in his panic.

Dean was still in the bed, pulling at his wrists like they were chained up.

Sam lifted him up and shook him.

“Dean, Dean, I’m right here.”

Dean’s eyes flew open and he grabbed for his brother. He was panting into his neck, body shaking while tears leaked down his face.

“He…He…” He muttered in his neck, whole body giving off tremors.

“He’s not here,” Sam assured him. He looked towards the door where Castiel stood, though instead of worry or fear, he looked pissed. He looked like the angels spoken of in the stories, the ones who fought to death to destroy monsters and demons. He looked like he could smite the whole world.

“Dean,” He called, his voice giving off a whole wave of calm throughout the room. He walked towards the bed, crouching in front of the frozen hunter.

“Dean, Michael is not here. Michael does not know where you are. Michael does not know where Sam is. Michael cannot find Bobby. You are here. You are safe. You are with your loved ones.” He spoke slow, sure, and calm.

The righteous man nodded; the nod was slow and careful. He looked towards the window and saw it was shut.

“He…he came through the window.” Dean told Castiel, looking at him and waiting for him to fix it.

Castiel nodded. He pulled out an angel blade, cut his hand and drew a symbol on the window. He looked back to Dean.

“No angel is coming through that window Dean,” Castiel told him.

Sam looked to Dean and then to Castiel. He felt like screaming.

“Can somebody please tell me what’s going on?” he asked, trying to keep his voice as soft as possible.

Dean looked to Castiel, as if asking for permission, asking if it was right and Castiel wanted to rip his eldest brother's four heads from his four shoulders. Of all the humans, of all the vessels, why did it have to be Dean? The one human who was definite to blame himself. The man didn't even think Michael was in the wrong. His thought waves were so loud Castiel couldn't ignore them. 

_It was my fault. It was my fault. I wanted it. I wanted. Please don't tell Sam, please don't tell Sam, please he'll hate me. I'm dirty. Don't tell Sammy. Don't tell Sammy I'm dirty._

Castiel nodded at him, he walked over and touched the mark on his shoulder. 

**_This was not your fault, my righteous one. You are not to blame here, beloved. You are good, and you are pure. Your soul will continue to shine, throughout the triumph of survival. You are not dirty, my righteous man, you are so clean. Sam will never hate you, and you did not ask for this. You did not ask to be chained, to be RAPED. You did not want this and you are not at fault. I will watch you, I will protect you, as will Sam and Bobby. You are good. You are good. You're such a good boy._ **

He let go and Dean rocked slightly, before stopping and calming. Castiel's words were flying around his head, swimming through his blood, and filling his soul. He was good. He was good. He wasn't dirty. He was good. 

"Sam, we need to talk," and for the first time in what felt like forever, Sam felt like his brother was going back to normal. 

 


	5. Our Safe Haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a filler chapter, involves hellhounds, cute moments? Michael is, as always, a prick.

Sam took the news…well.

Well, he took the news better than both Dean and Castiel had expected. He didn’t go on a murderous rampage (Dean told Cas he wouldn’t, Castiel muttered that he was _still_ the anti-Christ.) and he didn’t try to use his title of Boy King to build an army of demons and monsters. He did however now have hellhounds patrolling Bobby’s scrap yard, much to the older man’s annoyance.

“Sam, if I find one more chewed up car me and you are having words!” Bobby grumbled as he dragged the collar of an invisible beast, which was dragging a truck behind it.

Sam tried not to laugh, he really did.

“He’s bored,” Sam shrugged.

He was kneeling beside the impala, Dean underneath messing with wiring, his other hellhound sitting at his feet with its tongue rolling out. Castiel was leaning against the garage door, his arms crossed as he looked down at the small family of men. He wasn’t proud of it, but the hellhounds were warming up to him. While one stuck to Sam’s heels, the other seemed to be trying to help Dean. It ran out of Bobby’s grip and dropped the large piece of scrap at Dean’s feet, looking at the feet of the elder Winchester adoringly. Castiel hadn’t even known that hellhounds could feel love or adoration. Sam was stroking the head of his smaller pup. It was no surprise that Dean got the bigger one, the fallen angel walked forward and the beast began to snarl at him. It lowered its dark shadowy body and snarled at him, baring its teeth. Dean scooted out from under the car and clicked his fingers. The mutt stopped snarling, and when Dean barked at it to sit, it did so within seconds.

“He likes you,” Sam said smugly.

Dean turned to Cas, and the fallen angel was staring at the beast intuitively.

“It seems to think you’re pack,” he told them.

Dean stretched out his arms, spreading his fingers with his palm down. The hellhound bumped its head against the hand and Dean stroked down its head and ruffled its neck hairs.

“Hey, Cas is pack too alright?” he lifted his hand’s back up and fiddled with his ears.

The hound gave Castiel a suspicious look before barking, running off to find some more parts for Dean.

Bobby pulled up a stool and sat on it, looking at his boys. He could imagine John’s horror at the scene before him. If John Winchester ever saw his son casually fixing a car, a fallen angel and a hell hound for protectors or saw his younger son happily playing with a hell hound, he'd probably have a heart attack. Though, in all his honesty, Bobby couldn’t give a rat’s ass about John Winchester. Sure, he missed him. They were best friends for years, but John had been no father.

“Alright ladies, I’m making dinner, and if you don’t eat it you starve,” 

Castiel looked down at his stomach.

“Food…stops it?” he asked.

Bobby snorted at the angel; he had a lot to learn.

“Just follow Dean’s lead; you’ll never feel hunger again.”

Sam laughed and Dean threw a tiny spanner at him and it hit him in the shoulder.

“Hey!”

“Don’t be such a little bitch then,” Dean laughed from under the car he was fixing.

“Not my fault you’re such a jerk,” Sam muttered.

Bobby walked away from the boys; Castiel heard a bark and sighed.

“I’ll get him,”

Dean laughed.

“scraper, come ‘ere boy!” Dean called and the hound came leaping over the distance, landing at his owner’s feet.

“Scraper?” Sam said, his voice filled with amusement.

“Well he seems to like Bobby’s scrap, and he’s _my_ dog.” Dean sat up and stroked the hound. Castiel stood behind him, his own hand resting on Dean’s shoulder, where his mark was.

Sam grinned.

“So we get to keep ‘em?” he asked, his eyes lighting up.

“I hate you.” Dean told him and Sam just grinned cheekily.

Castiel looked at the Winchesters and knew that falling had been the right decision. This was his home now. With a grumpy old man, two lost boys, and two hounds that seemed to have found home in an old scrap yard.

 

Dinner was an uninteresting event. Bobby had made stew, and upon first glance it looked like someone had died and Bobby had made dinner out of them. Dean and Sam seemed enthusiastic enough, running into the kitchen faster than should have been humanly possible to grab at the food.

“Alright, alright go lay the table yer mongrels! It’ll be ready when it’s ready yeh little monsters.”

The boys whined and moaned but walked into the dining room, which Castiel hadn’t thought Bobby Singer would own, and made the table. It was so easy to see two small boys, excited for a good warm actual meal with their father, running around with excitement and youth, laying the table and washing their hands. it was easier to see John Winchester coming through half way through, probably drunk, and interrupting dinner. Dean would jump up straight away, taking Sammy’s hand and leading him to the bedroom. Sam would kick and scream, why couldn’t they stay with Bobby? Dean would pack while Sam ranted, he’d ignore Bobby and John yelling. The door would slam and John would yell they were never coming back, Bobby would yell that Joh couldn’t keep doing this to his boys. John would remind him that they were _his_ boys and both Winchester boys would get in the car. Dean would do Sam’s seat belt, he’d probably forget his own, and ask John if he was okay. John would smile at Dean and the boy’d know that they weren’t seeing Bobby for a long time.

“Cas, you okay?” Dean asked, his hand squeezing Castiel’s shoulder and Castiel shook himself.

That was the past. Dean’s reality had got much worse than a drunken father.

“Yes,” he answered, sitting down on a stiff wooden chair.

Dean starred at him and the angel tilted his head.

“Cas, we need to wash our hands.”

He almost laughed, Dean sounded like a confused child.

Dean led him to the bathroom, and they both washed their hands, Sam already sitting down and ready for dinner. Dean pulled Castiel into a hug after they had dried their hands, and the fallen angels stood there frozen for three beats before wrapping his arms around Dean’s waist.

“Thank you,” Dean whispered into Castiel’s ear.

“I’ll always watch over you Dean Winchester,” Castiel told him, his voice was steady, sure of his promise, as he whispered it.

They stepped out of the tiny bathroom and sat down. Bobby came in with a massive bowl of stew and four smaller bowls on a tray. He placed the large bowl down, and then passed each small bowl to each man. He passed out cutlery and began to pour stew in each bowl. It didn’t take long for them all to dig into the dinner.

“If one person flings a piece of meat, you’re on poop duty with the mutts,” Bobby warned them.

For the first time since he sat the boys for dinner the first time, not one person dared throw a piece of meat.

 

Castiel still didn’t sleep; at least he didn’t think he did. He sat in a chair in Dean’s room, eyes diligent on every door and window in the window. Dean slept soundly, and Castiel liked to think it was his presence. Whether that was true or not, well he’d probably know. He had expected a sound night of silence, where he could watch the beautiful righteous man in solitude. He should’ve known better.

**_BROTHER WHERE HAVE YOU HIDDEN HIM?!_ **

Castiel braced himself, he kept his eyes on Dean’s peaceful sleeping face that was half hidden in his pillow and smiled. He ignored his elder brother’s demands and cries of rage. Michael had fucked up. Michael had fucked Dean up. That was unforgivable.

**_AGAIN YOU FALL FOR THE RIGHTEOUS MAN, LITTLE BROTHER, BUT HE IS MINE._ **

Castiel stretched his arm and squeezed Dean’s hand. Dean smiled in his sleep, he looked happy. He was happy, happy and peaceful, so beautiful. He was beautiful, beautiful and pure. He was everything the righteous man should be. He was like every other and yet so different. He was different t Etherian who had been a pacifist until Lucifer stole his only daughter, so different to Mika who was filled with so much rage and yet would look at his mother with so much love and clarity that it was hard to imagine him ever charging into battle with a garrison of God’s mightiest warriors. Dean was so different to all of Castiel’s past loves, the ones he had fallen for before, and every time Michael had reset him, forgiven him, tried to get him to understand that falling for them was _wrong._ This time though, this time Castiel wouldn’t go back, not even Michael begged. He’d never leave Dean’s side. He’d charge through Hell with him, fight by the devil’s surrounding this safe haven; he’d kill his own brothers and sisters to protect Dean Winchester.

**_Dean Winchester is his own man. Dean Winchester shall defeat you, brother mine. The righteous man will never fall, while I choose it with open wings. Take my grace, but you’ll never take me from his place._ **

**_YOU SHALL REGRET THIS THURSDAYS CHILD._ **

**_No, I don’t think I will Michael._ **

****

Dean woke up, with Castiel looking at him.

“Good morning Dean,” Castiel greeted.

“You’re still here,” Dean honestly sounded surprised.

“As I shall be for many mornings to come,”

They both walked downstairs, Sam and Bobby already sitting on the sofa with bacon, eggs and coffee.

“Breakfast on the side sleeping beauty” Bobby told him, mouth full of bacon.

“Cheers Bobby,”

Dean and Cas sat down with their breakfast, the hounds came running in. One sat by Dean’s side, the other by Sam’s and Sam turned the channel over to the news.

_In breaking news today…_

 

Yeah, they were going to be okay. Castiel took let his hand fall to his side and stroked the top of the hounds head. Yeah, they were gonna be okay.


	6. Hell's Child

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have Crowley, angels, laws and a little bit of Drowley.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will try to add another chapter tonight, I know this is super short but I wanted to get it in separate from the next chapter.  
> Also, if anyone is willing to be my beta, please comment. I seriously need one xD

Leaving Bobby's wasn’t as bad as they were expecting. Bobby told them to pop by again, preferably with less tragic news next time. After probably two hours of running after invisible stubborn dogs, they finally managed to get them into the back of the Impala, Castiel sitting in the middle of the two dogs. Dean and Sam climbed into the front; Dean gripped the steering wheel and sped down the road.

Bobby turned around, entered his house, and shut the door behind him. He walked into his kitchen, opening the fridge and pulling out a beer.

“To deceive Heaven is easy decent into Hell, Mr Singer.” A female voice broke through the silence.

“Things we do for our kids, huh?”

“I would not know.”

Bobby turned around and saw a middle aged woman. She was quite pale with light brown hair and bright blue eyes. She wore a suit jacket, a shirt and slacks.

“You Michael’s buddy?” He asked, his voice slipping into disapproval quickly.

“Michael is my brother, as is Castiel, as is Lucifer.” She said.

“You might wanna get a rain check; Castiel seems more like a Winchester these days.”

“He has fallen for the righteous man before, he always returns home to us.” She said.

“Yes, after they die, and he has nothing left to stay for, but we both know that Dean has something that Castiel will want to protect.”

“So you do know,” she sounded amused, a tight smile appearing on her face.

Bobby nodded at her.

She looked around, and suddenly smelt it.

“There is a demon here.” She pulled out her angel blade, and a short man in a long black overcoat appeared from out of the shadows.

“Hello darling, what a lovely little speech. I really do feel touched,” he walked forward while talking, kissing Bobby’s cheek.

“You disgust me,” She sneered.

“Of course I do, it’s what I do for a living! Now, about Dean-o and his baking oven. See, the thing is, it’s _ours.”_

He pulled out a scroll from his large pocket.

“As it says here, written by Metatron himself might I add, only those that are full grace or full of soul may enter paradise. What that means sweetheart is that Dean’s little bastard is property of one Sam Winchester, our lord and saviour, all hail the boy king, blah blah blah.”

She puffed up her chest but the king of the crossroads rolled his eyes.

“Fly away, go ahead, shoo, you’ve lost here. You cannot disobey God’s own word, can you?”

She bristled but disappeared. Bobby sighed, collapsing into a chair.

“There you go, now where’s my prize?” the short man asked.

“What’s your name?” Bobby asked.

The man looked surprised; they didn’t usually want to know his name.

“They call me Crowley,”

“You’re a bastard Crowley.” Bobby grumbled, he stood up, grabbed the lapels of Crowley’s jacket and kissed him, hard.

He let go, and walked towards his study.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Singer! Please, do call me again,”

Bobby rolled his eyes, picking up a book, and settling down to read about Nephilim. He pulled out his phone and sent out a quick text.

 

‘Dean, have a chat with Castiel about your stomach.’


	7. Changes of a Savior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's going through changes and everyone's worried about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like I need to apologize to anyone who is still reading this since it's been a very long time since I updated on this crap. I did write this chapter a few times, but every time I felt like it wasn't good enough. Excuses, excuses I know, but here's a tiny chapter. Hopefully I update again before the years up! Enjoy x

"Where are we going?" Castiel asked, poking his head through the space between the two front seats.   
"Demon thing," Dean grunted, turning the steering wheel with ease.   
"You should've stayed with Bobby," Sam said, crossing his arms petulantly.   
"And let you and Ruby have all the fun? You wish Ricky," Dean snorted.   
"Dean, his name's Sam," Castiel corrected him softly, looking at him with concern.   
Dean snorted and Sam turned his head to look at Castiel.   
"It's a film Cas, Little Ricky was the anti-Christ," Sam explained.   
"Oh," He replied.

The rest of the drive was in a comfortable silence, with a few quick quips between Dean and Sam, two large dogs needing pee breaks and Castiel having his first human experience of throwing up.

When they finally arrived to the motel that Ruby was apparently staying at Dean let out a long whistle.   
It was massive, more like a tower, and very modern. It was a massive black and white tower, straight out of a futuristic comic, and if it wasn't a five star place then Dean would shoot himself in the foot.   
"Come on," Sam called to them both, getting out of the car and walking towards the door.   
Castiel appeared outside of Dean's door and opened it for him.   
"I can open a bloody door Cas," Dean grumbled, shutting the door and whistling to Scrapper.   
"Come 'ere boy," He called, walking towards the door.   
Castiel crinkled his nose, staring at the hotel with disgust. The whole place stunk of sulfar, and he doubted that there was a single free willing human inside. He walked closesly behind Dean, getting used to the feeling of using his legs as the main transportation muscle, rather than his wings. A woman in a fully black suit with black sunglasses bowed to Sam, before opening the door for him. The door slammed before Dean could walk in and he looked up at the woman. He clenched his fists, and Scrapper began to growl. Sam's dog also ran up the stairs and began to snarl at the woman.   
"Demons only," She said stiffly.   
Dean cleneched his fist and looked like he was going to punch her.   
Castiel quickly grabbed his forearm, squeezing it lightly, but he didn't seem to have Sam's magic touch.   
"Like Hell I'm letting Sammy in there with you freaks on his own," He growled. He pulled his fist back, his elbow colliding with Cas' gut, and punched her in the neck.   
"Dean!" Castiel yelled, but the righteous man had snapped.   
Her hands reach up to touch her neck, and he pulled out the knife he'd swiped from Sam and stabbed her in the stomach. She began to gurgle blood and the righteous man showed no emotional reaction.   
"Come on Cas," He growled, pushing the door forward and walking through the halls, marching with large steps to catch up to his brother.   
"She was only doing her job Dean," Sam sighed.   
"So was I," Dean replied stiffly.   
Castiel watched the exchange between the two brothers, and worried for all the changes that Dean seemed to be going through in little over 72 hours. 


End file.
